Memorial Day to me is Gpa.

It is sitting with Brother in the living room at my grandparents — me, sprawled out on the couch, Brother seated across from Gpa in front of the big picture window.

How I would give anything to go back to one of those days right now. That time we had together was something special alright. Brother and I with the recorder on, riveted by each and every word he spoke about The War.

Hours we spent listening to him. The stories and thoughts no one else ever heard. I recognized it at the time, how special and sacred it was. Yet it is only now that I fully can appreciate how lucky we were {and are} to have captured such an important part of history.

Thank you, my Old Soldier. You were just a boy when you left. Fresh off from high school graduation. You had never been out of the state of Ohio.

You excelled in Basic Training, suffered through each minute across the Atlantic to Italy with seasickness, and barely slept at night wondering if in all your grenade throwing … how many died? How many injured?

You missed your mom, your family. Home. You just wanted to be home. You didn’t think it would happen. But look, here we all are because of you.

Because of all the other Soldiers — young and old alike.

Let Freedom Ring.